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Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony. The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed. The order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish. Everything would break up in chaos. There would be no seasons, no civilization, no thought, no humanity; even life would give way, and the impotent void would reign everywhere.
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Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony. The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzy...
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I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.
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Come to the edgeHe said. They said We are afraid.Come to the edgeHe said. They came.He pushed them, andthey flew...
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The plastic virtues: purity, unity, and truth, keep nature in subjection.
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